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The Good Daughter Is Gone
Novelix
new
Completed
"The day I got into the graduate program, I brought home a payment notice for $28,000. The deadline was that night. Six months earlier, my parents had told me they already had the money set aside. But Mom didn’t even finish reading the notice before sliding her bank card across the table to my cousin, Mia. “Her art school admissions prep program is more urgent. We’ll cover what you need later.” “What about my program?” I asked. Dad sighed. “Claire, you’ve always been so understanding. Let Mia have this one.” There it was again. Whenever Mia needed something, I was supposed to step aside. I looked down at the payment notice. “Forget it.” Ten minutes after I went back to my room, a new email appeared in my inbox. FULL FUNDING APPROVED. The full funding I’d spent six weeks waiting for had finally come through. I sent one line back. “I accept.” Then I bought a plane ticket to the Netherlands. One way."
Chapters (3)
Chapter 1
The day I got into the graduate program, I brought home a payment notice for $28,000.
The deadline was that night.
Six months earlier, my parents had told me they already had the money set aside.
But Mom didn’t even finish reading the notice before sliding her bank card across the table to my cousin, Mia.
“Her art school admissions prep program is more urgent. We’ll cover what you need later.”
“What about my program?” I asked.
Dad sighed.
“Claire, you’ve always been so understanding. Let Mia have this one.”
There it was again.
Whenever Mia needed something, I was supposed to step aside.
I looked down at the payment notice.
“Forget it.”
Ten minutes after I went back to my room, a new email appeared in my inbox.
FULL FUNDING APPROVED.
The full funding I’d spent six weeks waiting for had finally come through.
I sent one line back.
“I accept.”
Then I bought a plane ticket to the Netherlands.
One way.
……
At ten that night, Mom knocked and came in with a glass of warm milk.
“Still upset?”
She set the glass on my desk and reached over to stroke my hair. I instinctively leaned away.
She didn’t notice.
“I know you’ve always been understanding.”
“I know we rushed things today, but Mia really couldn’t wait.”
I said nothing. I just minimized the flight confirmation on my screen.
“There’s something else.”
Mom sat on the edge of my bed.
“Your college notes and all those application essay resources you put together—give Mia a copy of everything tomorrow.”
I stopped what I was doing.
“Give them to her?”
“Her admissions consultant said her grades aren’t good enough. Art schools don’t just look at portfolios. She needs to get her grades up and work on her application essays.”
“Your materials are so thorough. She could use them as a reference.”
I turned my chair around.
“Mom. I spent four years putting those notes together. I built those application resources from scratch.”
She frowned.
“Claire, you’ve already graduated. You won’t need any of it anymore.”
“Giving her a copy doesn’t cost you anything.”
She waved a hand.
“You’ve always done well in school. Mia’s behind. If you don’t help her, who will?”
Dad appeared in the doorway.
“Your mom’s right.”
“Once you start working full-time, I’ll get you a better car. To make it up to you.”
Make it up to me.
He sounded so sincere.
They always did when they took something from me.
I glanced at the milk.
“Okay.”
Mom smiled immediately.
With her watching, I copied four years of course materials and application notes onto an external hard drive and handed it over.
“It’s all here.”
She took it.
“I knew you wouldn’t hold something this small against Mia.”
She had barely stood up when Mia poked her head around the door.
“Claire.”
She winked at me.
“Thanks.”
She was eighteen, with dyed light brown hair and my silver necklace around her neck.
“I knew you wouldn’t leave me hanging.”
“Oh, and I’m the one who reminded Aunt Laura to warm up some milk for you.”
I looked at her.
She really didn’t think anything was wrong.
“No problem.”
Mia smiled and went back to the living room.
After the door closed, I picked up the milk and poured it down the sink.
Then I canceled the shared family cloud drive, left the family location-sharing group, and deleted the shared photo album.
I turned off every family sharing permission.
An airline itinerary notification appeared in the corner of my screen.
Graduation was in three days.
Then I was leaving.
Chapter 2
The next morning, my parents took Mia out.
Before they left, Mom knocked on my door.
“You left the hard drive by the front door, right? Mia’s admissions consultant needs it today.”
“I did.”
Ten minutes later, my phone rang.
The hospital.
“Is this Claire Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“This is the gastroenterology department. We have the results from your follow-up last week.”
“Your ulcer isn’t improving the way we’d hoped. We recommend you come back for further testing as soon as possible.”
I went quiet for a few seconds.
“Can I come today?”
“Yes.”
……
The nurse flipped through my chart, then looked up.
“You look pale. Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“Good. Keep fasting.”
She checked the system.
“We can schedule an upper endoscopy this afternoon. If you choose sedation, someone will need to pick you up afterward.”
“Is there anyone who can come?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
She paused.
“A friend?”
“No.”
She looked at me for a few seconds, then handed me a thermometer without asking anything else.
“Let’s take care of what’s going on right now. You have a low-grade fever, and you look dehydrated.”
I sat in a chair in the hallway as my stomach cramped.
I hadn’t eaten dinner the night before. The day before that, I’d only had half a salad.
I wasn’t trying to starve myself.
Lately, every time I pictured Mom sliding that bank card over to Mia, my stomach seized up.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Mom.
“When you get home, drop off Mia’s additional enrollment paperwork. I left it on your desk.”
“She has to turn it in today.”
A minute later, another message arrived.
“Hurry. Don’t hold things up.”
“I’ll make your favorite ribs for dinner.”
I put my phone back in my pocket.
The pain got worse. Cold sweat slid down the back of my neck.
The nurse came back a moment later.
“You’re running a slight fever. Let’s get you started on IV fluids.”
As the needle went into my vein, I sent Mom one sentence.
“I’m at the hospital getting IV fluids.”
Her reply appeared almost instantly.
“Claire, are you pretending to be sick to make a point again?”
“Didn’t we settle this last night?”
“Mia’s paperwork has to be turned in today. Don’t sabotage her application over a little money.”
I stared at the messages.
I didn’t answer.
Five minutes later, Dad called.
“Claire. Your mom said you’re not feeling well?”
His voice was gentle, as always.
“Have you been getting enough rest?”
“I know these last couple of days have been a little unfair to you, but Mia really is on a deadline.”
“Just drop the paperwork off for her. I’ll pick you up afterward.”
“We’ll all have a nice family dinner tonight.”
Twenty-two years.
He’d spoken to me that way for twenty-two years.
Gently. Reasonably. With just a hint of an apology.
Then he’d ask me to give in as if there were no other option.
I looked at the IV bag.
“Got it.”
One last time.
I hung up.
Forty minutes later, I asked the nurse to take out the IV.
She reminded me about the endoscopy that afternoon.
“Cancel it,” I said.
When I stood, my vision went black for a moment.
I braced myself against the wall until the dizziness passed, then called a ride home, picked up the paperwork, and went to Mia’s admissions prep center.
The receptionist looked taken aback when she saw how pale I was.
“Are you okay? Do you need some water?”
“No, thanks.”
I handed her the documents.
“Additional enrollment paperwork for Mia Bennett. Could you give these to her admissions consultant?”
“Of course.”
She looked down to log them.
“Are you her sister?”
“No,” I said. “I’m just dropping them off.”
As I walked out of the building, Dad texted.
“Did you deliver them?”
“I’ll come get you.”
I didn’t reply.
I went straight to the management office for the apartment I’d rented.
When I’d decided to stay at my university for grad school, I’d signed a lease for a place off campus.
I didn’t need it anymore.
“Early termination carries a penalty of two months’ rent.”
The staff member looked at me.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a significant amount.”
“Charge me.”
By the time I finished signing, it was almost dark.
I had more than a dozen unread messages, all from my parents.
“Where are you?”
“Why aren’t you answering?”
“Dinner’s ready.”
“Claire, stop this.”
The last message was from Mia.
“Thanks for today!”
“Aunt Laura’s ribs were amazing. I saved you the biggest one.”
I stood on the sidewalk and read every message.
Then I opened a folder on my phone and filed away the lease termination confirmation, my hospital records, and the information for the local accounts I still needed to close.
Everything I needed to settle went in there.
The folder had a simple name.
Settled.
Graduation was in two days.
My phone lit up again.
A confirmation from my college about the ceremony.
“Claire, the two family seats reserved for the student speaker still haven’t been confirmed. Will your parents be attending?”
I didn’t reply.
Chapter 3
“Claire, are your parents still on their way?”
A staff member found me backstage before the graduation ceremony.
I stopped adjusting my gown.
“Something came up. They can’t make it.”
She looked taken aback.
“But the university reserved two seats in the front row for the student speaker’s family. They’re both still empty.”
“That’s okay. Leave them empty.”
As the graduating class’s student representative, I was scheduled to give a three-minute speech.
Ten minutes earlier, Mom had sent me a voice message.
“Claire, Mia had a breakdown at the admissions prep center today.”
“She says she’s completely behind on her portfolio. She’s crying so hard she can barely breathe.”
“Your dad and I need to stay with her.”
“You’ve always been independent. You’ll be okay at graduation on your own, right?”
“Just take a few pictures and send them to us.”
Dad added something in the background.
“Mia’s really unstable right now. If no one’s here for her, it could ruin her future.”
“Try to understand.”
I sent one word back.
“Okay.”
The auditorium was packed.
Only two seats in the middle of the front row remained empty.
My last name was taped to the backs.
BENNETT FAMILY.
Everywhere I looked, there were bouquets, cameras, and hugs.
Parents kept waving at their children onstage.
The lights dimmed. The announcer began reading names.
“Please welcome this year’s student speaker, graduating with highest honors—Claire Bennett.”
Applause rose.
I walked onstage, accepted my diploma and medal, then stepped up to the microphone.
I lifted my head and glanced at the front row.
Those two empty seats stood out.
I took hold of the microphone.
“I’d like to thank myself.”
The auditorium went quiet for a moment.
“For every night I stayed in the library until closing. For every paper I rewrote after it was returned to me.”
“For every time I went to the hospital alone.”
“Thank you to the Claire who never gave up on herself.”
“She’s the reason I’m standing here.”
I lowered my head, bowed, and left the stage.
My classmates gathered around for pictures.
Someone asked casually, “Where are your parents? Should we get them over here for a photo?”
“No need,” I said. “They’re busy.”
After the crowd thinned out, I walked to the entrance.
The two guest passes reserved for my family were still on the table.
I picked them up, looked at them, and dropped them in the trash beside it.
My phone buzzed.
Dad.
“Is it over?”
“Mia suddenly wants that cake you got for your birthday. Pick one up for her on your way home.”
I stared at the message for a long time.
My birthday.
Of course I remembered.
I’d bought that cake myself, too.
They hadn’t shown up then, either.
I typed one word.
“Okay.”
Then I went back to my dorm and sealed the last two boxes.
I labeled them with the temporary mailing address the university had provided and scheduled a pickup.
On my way home, I passed the bakery.
I didn’t go in.
The living room was empty when I opened the front door.
Dad’s voice drifted out of the study.
The door was open. His phone was on speaker.
“Yes. The youth leadership program Claire got into.”
“She’s about to graduate anyway. She won’t need it anymore.”
“If she withdraws, is there any way to get Mia into her spot?”
“Tell me what needs to happen with the paperwork. I’ll handle it.”
“She just turned eighteen, and she’s applying to art school. Her résumé’s pretty thin.”
“This program would help a lot.”
I stood in the hallway, keys still in my hand.
I didn’t move.
Dad kept talking.
“I’ll take care of Claire.”
“She’s always been cooperative. She won’t object.”
